The part of my brain that’s responsible for logical thinking and reasoning knows that Facebook Gary is right. That damn cardinal was attacking its reflection in my window because this type of bird, by its nature, is aggressive. (Watch them tease your outdoor cats sometime. It makes for cheap theater.)
That’s how Eagle Scout Dad would have explained it. And that’s what my brainy sister, Nicole, would have said, too. And those two would know. Dad really was an Eagle Scout, and Nicole probably really did read an encyclopedia of avian behavior when she was six or seven years old. That’s the type of kid she was.
But the part of my brain that process emotions, as illogical as they sometimes are, says, “Nope. That’s Dad or God or someone letting us know that Dad’s all good.”
Pleas with Dad
Dad had been almost comatose for about 24 hours. We knew he didn’t have much time. When he was “awake,” he’d say things like, “Where’s Mom?” He’d look around the room for his mother, who died in 2009. Or he’d be untangling the fishing line he thought he was entangled in.
I knew for sure he wasn’t coming back. Whether it was oxygen deprivation to his brain, morphine, cancer that likely had spread from his lungs to his brain, we don’t know. But he hadn’t been Dad for several days.
Then one day Nicole texts me and says, “Dad’s awake and talking. He wants you to call him.”
“Are you there?” he asks me on the phone. “Am I supposed to be hearing music?” he asks.
“No, Dad. No music. Just me. I’m here.”
“I’m very sick, Melanie.”
“I know, Dad.”
“Tell me what you need to tell me.”
“I love you so much, Dad.”
“No. Tell me what you need to tell me.”
“It’s OK for you to go, Dad.”
“I understand.”
Before we hung up, I made him promise me to show me some sort of sign that he was OK when he got to where he was going. I didn’t ask for anything specific. Just a sign. He promised me he would.
I didn’t know it at the time, but Nicole and my stepmom, Sherrie, had asked him to do the same thing for them. Show them a sign when he got to where he was going. They asked him for something specific, though. A cardinal.
Do NOT interrupt me
I’ve become increasingly cantankerous about my work lately. I don’t like being interrupted. Charging for my work by the hour means I have to make every hour count. I don’t have time for kids throwing tennis balls against our house, nor for Spanky Mae’s barking when kids throw tennis balls against our house.
This is what started happening yesterday about noon. Every 15 minutes or so, this kid, my neighbor kid, would start bouncing his tennis ball against my house, and Spanky Mae would go nuts barking.
Only it was noon. Neighbor Kid was still in school. Plus, Neighbor Kid has never bounced a tennis ball off my house, so why would he have started now? And why would he do it against my front door?
I finally got curious enough to actually stop what I was doing. When I walked to my door, I saw a shadow in the window. I’m female, so this freaked me out. I figured there was a mouse or squirrel at my doorstep, so I made a noise to make it scurry away. It did.
I opened the door, and there wasn’t a soul outside. No Neighbor Kid. No tennis balls.
This became my afternoon routine. For hours. Every 15 or 20 minutes, the bouncing-ball noise would hit against my door. The bouncing would last for five or six minutes and then stop.
Later in the afternoon, around four, I finally saw it, a cardinal, pecking at the picture window next to my front door. And it stayed there, even though I’m pretty sure it could see that I was standing there.
It was beautiful. Such a saturated, deep red. So I shot a video of him and posted it on Facebook, Vine and Twitter. Covered all my bases.
I tried to be funny about it. “This cardinal really, really wants inside the Medina Estates,” I said on Facebook.
Nicole responds, “You know that Mom and I asked Dad to send a cardinal as a sign, right? This video gave me chills.”
Nicole — at least in my perception of her — isn’t the type of person to believe in signs.
Either way = Awesomesauce
Both sides of my brain are equally pleased with this whole cardinal thing.
The logical side sees the bird and thinks, “How cool is that? You get to see this gorgeous red bird flying around on your porch.” (I also think to myself, “The bird is obviously attracted to MY porch because of the phenomenal blue color of my door.”)
So, I get a glimpse of beautiful bird and that is that.
Or the emotional, spiritual side says, “DAD! Thank you for saying hi. I know that even though you’re not on this earth, your love for your girls is as strong as ever and is eternal.”
Don’t misread this. I don’t think Dad is reincarnated into this idiot bird. I’m saying that it is not beyond the realm of possibility that some force of nature — call it God, call it Dad’s spirit — sent this cardinal to attack itself all friggin’ day long in MY window so that I would get off my rear end and pay attention to it and then tell everyone about it.
If I had kept it to myself, Nicole may not have ever told me that she and Sherrie asked Dad to send a cardinal.
Either way you dice it, it’s beautiful. Maybe it’s just a beautiful bird. But maybe it’s Hi, Dad!
